Divine Intervention
by Deltree
Summary: The timeline broken and history rewritten, seven individuals find themselves remembering events that have never happened and people they have never met. Willow thinks this is their chance to save humanity. Xander thinks she’s insane. Slash.
1. Prologue: Ouside of Reality

Title: Divine Intervention

Pairings: mainly Spike/Xander and Gunn/Wes, Willow/Tara, and others

Warnings: AU, slash, angst, violence, language, major character death (though I'm not really sure if it actually counts as character death) etc. I'll put warnings on those chapters when I get to them.

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or the characters.

Summary: The timeline broken and history rewritten, seven individuals find themselves remembering events that have never happened and people they have never met. Willow thinks this is their chance to save humanity. Xander thinks she's insane.

AN: Okay, this is basically a re-write of an uncompleted story that hasn't really gotten anywhere, called _So Not Disneyland_, which I'm hating. And if anyone cares and actually counts up the fighters that are indirectly mentioned in this one part and then wonders where everyone else is, I'll tell you. Angel and Cordelia came to Sunnydale after she had a vision of some guy doing a spell. This not being a huge thing really, only those two went, Wesley and Gunn stayed back in LA and kept an eye on things there. Cordelia having done her duty and describing the vision stayed home with Dawn and Anya, again because this wasn't some huge deal that needed tons of people to fight. Spike was sent off to patrol somewhere else because the wizard was human and he couldn't do anything to help without the chip acting up.

* * *

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Prologue: Outside of Reality

-

Looking down at the battle currently being played out on Earth, the male and female representations of the Powers that Be frowned, displeased with how the situation was unfolding.

The chosen battlefield was a small clearing in the woods, fortunately located a good few miles from the actual Hellmouth. Surrounded by trees, there was just enough space for the large protective circle that had been drawn around the complex system of runes written in the dirt and the multitude of candles that had been spread deliberately throughout. And sitting in the very center of all this was a single human, a wizard, his eyes closed as he chanted loudly and lifted his arms to the sky.

Surrounding the human at all sides but unable to penetrate the protective circle, six others stood just at the edges of the clearing. Brute force had already proven useless, the Slayer and their Champion hitting the barrier and being violently thrown back, as had the crossbow arrows fired by the human boy. The Slayer's Watcher and the two witches had taken to trying to bring down the barrier through magic but, unfortunately, all attempts so far had been largely unsuccessful, and the group suspected that they would need to wait until the caster's magic was more focused on his spell than his own protection, allowing for weak-spots to appear. They didn't know when this would occur though, and figured that a constant barrage would speed things up a little, so the current plan seemed to be to throw whatever they could at it and hope for the best.

Frustrated with the overall incompetence being shown here, the male narrowed his eyes at the lower beings. "Things are not going as planned."

"No, they are not," the female agreed, expression one of calculation as she watched, "The situation has proven far more difficult than expected."

Down on Earth, the wizard continued to chant as the runes surrounding him began to glow softly. Noticing this, the fighters outside of the protective barrier stepped up their efforts to break through, using spells, weapons, and force to no avail.

"The mortal is playing with forces far above his own control. He _cannot_ be allowed to finish that spell," the male continued, ignoring the other's comment.

"And yet, I can find no other way for this to go."

The male turned his narrow-eyed gaze on her, obviously unhappy with the assessment, "This will only bring chaos and destruction. All plans will have been for naught."

"Yes," she agreed simply and nodded, knowing it to be true.

"Those Above Us will not be pleased," he persisted.

"Yes," the female agreed again, but her frown deepened at the thought and she studied the battle even more intently for any possible moves to prevent both a demotion and the sure destruction of the world. They were not going to win, that much was certain, but it may be possible for the situation to be salvaged in some way. Maybe if she . . . .

Down on Earth, the protective barrier had been broken too late. The spell was cast and the six fighters were unsuccessful in their attempt at bringing the wizard down before he could escape. Injured by a crossbow bolt but determined, the wizard had managed to slip by them, falling into the now active portal. Grabbing him by the ankle at the last moment, the human boy had been dragged forward by the sucking pull inherent in all magical portals of that particular nature, but was ripped away by the Slayer before he could actually fall through.

Safe in their viewing place outside of the strictly forward-moving reality, the two Higher Beings watched as the wizard's shoes vanished from sight and everything changed.

Whole universes shifting as the timeline was broken, for a single moment there was confusion. Everything free floating, the female simply reacted, instinctively reaching out to grab hold of what she could, and effectively isolated for that one brief second the individual consciousnesses that had once been housed in the bodies of those that had been under her watch. And this one second was all that was needed. The timeline managing to quickly straighten itself out, the individual consciousnesses were immediately lodged in their respective owners.

Seeing this, the male looked at her in question. "Did you have a plan?"

Not quite sure herself as to how her actions would be helpful, the female still managed to give her companion a composed and secretive smile. "We re-build."

* * *

TBC. Hopefully this is better than the last one. If not, please tell me.


	2. Ch 1: Welcome to the Jungle

Title: Divine Intervention

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or the characters, and the title to this chapter is actually the title of a song by Guns 'N Roses

* * *

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Chapter #1: Welcome to the Jungle

-

On February 21, 1997, the demons took control of the Hellmouth.

Energized and excited by the death of the current Slayer, Buffy Summers, the demons had gone on a rampage through the town of Sunnydale. A massacre, young children and teenagers had slowly bled to death in school corridors, the half eaten bodies of parents and teachers left to rot in the open air, and the elderly torn apart limb by limb for the demon's sick amusement.

Xander Harris, Willow Rosenberg, and Rupert Giles, the friends and Watcher of Buffy Summers, had attempted to bring order to the town, but were unsuccessful. Quickly changing their plans, they had worked to help the civilians escape, only leaving town themselves once it had become clear that the Hellmouth was well and truly lost to them.

Running off to LA, scared and confused, the three of them had had no idea as to what to do after this. A question which was then answered as the demons of LA, heartened by the demonic take over of the Hellmouth, began to rise up.

News of the strange and horrific attacks occurring in Southern California spread quickly throughout the country, causing a wide-spread panic as the attacks began to exponentially increase in both size and number. Making their way up the coastline before spreading into the more central states, in mere weeks they had reached the larger cities along the East Coast. There was no pattern or explainable reason for either the location or violence, and news cameras were only able to capture graphic clips of what could only be called monsters.

Some believed that the aliens had finally landed, others that this was the Final Reckoning and Last Battle between the forces of Heaven and Hell, and still others that these were an army of amazingly life-like battle-monsters sent by North Korea or Russia to destroy America and stop the spread of democracy. Whatever reason given, the United States had gone into red-alert and the Army was sent out to do what little it could.

But the situation had already progressed too far, the attacks already spreading across the ocean. And as the Watcher's Council became the first major demonic victory overseas, the world was soon lost.

Chaos and death everywhere, the demons celebrated their return to power for months before things began to calm down and they realized just what it was they had done. No more humans meant there would be no more food, and with humans no longer in control there was now no solid power structure in existence.

Powerful demons from around the world hurried to grab whatever control they could. Border skirmishes, assassinations, and political power plays became common place as various demon Tribes and Orders fought each other for more power, more land, more money, more prestige and influence.

Those humans not set aside for food or entertainment were put to work in the homes, fields, and manufacturing plants, but the economy still became stagnate and the crops became harder and harder to produce as the land grew polluted with black magic and exhaust fumes. Human rebels continued to go free, attacking crucial places of labor and various pivotal business dealings, freeing slaves and human cattle, and basically destroying all chances of ever creating a stable system.

Now, five years since that one fateful day in February, the world was a bleak and dirty place, and could only grow worse.

* * *

-

**Bakersfield, California; USA**

-

Gears shifted, metal clanked, and harsh puffs of dirty air hit his dirty face as sweat rolled down his forehead and bare back, muscles straining with the heavy machinery.

He breathed deeply and pushed down again on the lever. Pulled up.

Deep breath. Pushed down. Pulled up.

Repeated the actions again

And again.

And again.

The work was mindless, back-breaking and repetitive, but Gunn refused to turn off his mind even now, in the middle of the night, with the furnace at its hottest, his muscles burning from overuse, and the repetition threatening to drive him insane. It would only make things easier, and Gunn knew that making this life easier would just be stupid.

If it was easier to get through the work day without a mind, it would be easier to get through everything else without a mind too. He'd turn into one of them, one of those fucking mindless drones that had already accepted their new lot in life.

Gunn was slave to no one, no man and definitely no ass-ugly demon.

It figured that he'd be taken to this fucking plantation. The black man just couldn't get a break in this damn world. Oppressed by the white man, oppressed by the green man, it all made no difference in the end. At least back in LA, it hadn't been so fucking hot and he hadn't had to do all this shit-work.

He didn't exactly know what this shit-work really was, besides making something, but he didn't really want to know either. It would probably turn out he was helping make leather or some other thing to help demons keep the humans down.

All he wanted was out. Out of this building, out of this desert, and out of this life.

His sister may have been killed early on, but his crew was still out there somewhere and he'd promised himself that he would do anything to find them.

They, meaning Gunn and his crew along with the many other magic-users and supernaturally in the know people who had once lived in LA, had been the cities' biggest defense back when the demons had first started to appear. Having just discovered the existence of vampires himself, Gunn had been putting together a fighting crew at the time, and, seeing all these weird-ass monsters popping out of the woodwork everywhere, he had decided that this was their chance to do some good. Never actually trained, his group had managed to kill some demons and help a good amount of people to safety, even creating a safe-house of a sort.

On a wider scale, they hadn't helped so much. Humans had gotten killed by the thousands across the country, probably spreading out into other countries some time around then, too. Cut off from the outside world at the time, Gunn hadn't known what exactly had been going down, so he and the others in LA had continued to fight on, expecting help at any time.

Help which never came, obviously, and in the end, Gunn and his crew had been hunted down, some killed, those left over separated according to their usefulness.

There were days when he wished that he had been killed right then, that he had never been taken to this damn factory and forcibly returned to the days of slavery, that he had been able to leave this hell behind and be with his family again.

Most days though, Gunn was glad that he hadn't. Any chance of freedom was better than no chance after all, and he had worked too hard, and fought too long, to give up now.

He wouldn't give the bastards the satisfaction.

* * *

-

**Albany, New York; USA**

**-**

A twisted ankle, covered with thin but bleeding scratches and dark bruises, blood running into his eyes from a head wound hidden under his matted hair, Xander stumbled more than ran through the forest. He had no idea where he was anymore or how he had ever gotten there. No longer able to reach Willow back at headquarters after his communicator had been lost, he had lost track of all bearings the minute he had stepped foot in this forest. The tall trees were dizzying and he was in no state to make out any sense of direction.

This hunt had gone on too long, the bounty hunter after him too good, and Xander knew that he was merely putting off the inevitable by trying to run any further. The smell of his blood was all that was needed for most demons to follow and, on top of this, he was leaving more than noticeable foot tracks, along with crumpled leaves and snapped branches, and wasn't exactly moving very quietly or quickly. He was honestly surprised that the hunter hadn't caught up to him yet. With the amount of money on his head, he had thought that any demon would be rushing for the kill, especially after that last raid.

The demons taking over the Hellmouth and then the world when he was only sixteen, Xander had been on the run ever since and was good at it. Starting up something of a rebellion with the surviving people of Sunnydale, Giles, Willow, and he had been remarkably successful in their work to rescue those humans captured by demons as slaves, entertainment, food, and etc. It was a hard job but a necessary one after the Slayer line had been effectively brought to an end.

The plan this time had been for Xander and his chosen group of fighters, with Willow monitoring them from back at home base, to find their way into the center of what had once been Boston in hopes of freeing a number of humans from a major slave auction that was to be held there, sponsored by an especially prominent figure in the struggling demonic power structure.

Nearly five humans were successfully freed before things had gone wrong and they had been forced to flee. Splitting up into pairs, Xander and one other rebel, Jason, had been pursued by a motley pack of guards which they had easily lost. But then the chase was picked up again, just outside of Massachusetts, where the two of them had been making their roundabout way back to the home base. And this newest pursuer had been harder to shake off. It seemed as though no matter how long they had traveled, or how many Willow-made toys they had used, or how well they had stayed out of his way, the hunter was always just two steps behind.

He and Jason had experienced their closest brush with the demon so far just outside of these woods. Xander had managed to escape into the trees with his worst injuries being only a twisted ankle and a minor head wound, his communicator and various other useful tools unfortunately lost. Jason hadn't been so lucky, a broken rib had pierced his lungs and he had slowly bled to death.

Not noticing the raised tree root, Xander tripped and toppled painfully to the ground. "Ah . . ." he cried out softly, grabbing at his ankle, and grit his teeth to ride out the pain. Forcing himself back on his feet as quickly as he could, he struggled forward. His ankle even worse than before, sharp jolts of extreme pain shot up and down his leg with every step and he focused most of his attention on just moving.

There was no way he was going to survive this now, but that didn't mean he was going to make it easy on them.

* * *

-

**North London, England**

-

Running through an alleyway after the quickly retreating form of Jefferson, a packaged loaf of bread and apple in hand, Wesley winced at the loud crash of the collapsing garbage bin behind him. That was going to attract some unwanted attention.

The next alleyway being one dirtier and darker than the other, and the next even more so, the two of them made their way deeper and deeper into the heart of London. They were getting closer to their home, just a few blocks further, and Wesley was, as always, comforted to know that he would soon be below ground and out of most danger's way.

Wesley absolutely _hated_ food duty. It was always so dangerous, and with one member of their three man group being a man who stubbornly refused to admit both his age and the frailties that came with it, the risks of stealing were made just that much worse. Only two members of their three person team were fit enough to fight successfully. And if they wanted to keep that three man head-count for as long as possible, then a back-up on the food runs was essential, meaning that one of them would always be left behind alone to guard their make-shift home from the various other street-dwellers searching for shelter.

In the past, their team had been a good amount larger, but Watcher training had proven inadequate in many ways, the most important being that it didn't prepare a man to live on the run and fight actual demons.

A combined raid and slaughter, any remotely able demon had jumped on the chance to wreak unorganized havoc on the largest and most successful human opposition of supernatural power. The actual Councilmen had thankfully managed to flee the country with all of the more important and dangerous documents in hand, but those unlucky ones still in the main building hadn't had a chance. As far as Wesley knew only three Watchers, four Watcher trainees including himself, and a maid had survived the experience. Eight out of the more than 100 individuals in the building at the time.

Two of the three Watchers had headed straight home, worried for their families, but the last, Edward Walters, had invited the younger men and women to accompany him for the night, or until they could get in contact with outside help. But by the end of the week, the demons had gone wild, the banks had been ransacked and no one had been able to reach a single loved one. Neither of the missing Watchers had been heard from again, the phones down and the technicians supposed dead. All flights had been cancelled, and all boats had been docked or sunk. Britain was an island, and it had quickly become clear that there was no way off of it.

So they had followed the multitude of other British civilians and turned to the streets, using what their studies had taught them to survive the demons, and their resourcefulness to survive everything else.

Used to an admittedly more pampered and easy life, it had been difficult to adjust, but necessity brought swift changes and they'd quickly learned to leave their old ways behind.

Still, adjustment couldn't prevent further loss. Ever since the first year had passed with no improvement in the situation of the world, Wesley had known their struggle would be in vain. Survival on the streets was hard enough without the additional factors of these particular streets being located in a country isolated by water and dominated by beings in possession of both superior senses and strength. Two of his fellow trainees had died, one due to arrogance, one to infection. The maid had been taken alive about four months ago, Wesley didn't want to know to where.

All that was left now was Walters, Jefferson and himself. And, even then, this life was obviously beginning to take its heavy toll on the late-middle-aged Walters. It probably wouldn't be long now before he was gone.

And after that, deprived of their mentor's greater experience and learning, it probably wouldn't be long before Wesley and Jefferson followed.

* * *

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**Albany, New York; USA**

-

Nearly summer, the night was warm as Spike and three of his minions trampled through the forests of rural New York. Not one for picturesque scenery and long walks through dirty and heavily wooded areas, the stolen blood in Spike's veins was rushing in excitement for an entirely different reason.

Coming up to the next clearing, the smell of warm human blood hit his nose even stronger than before and Spike smirked. "This way," he ordered, swiftly walking off to the right.

He didn't really need to hurry. The trail of blood was easily followed, and judging by the footsteps it seemed as though the human's leg had finally given out on him. This hunt wouldn't last much longer.

He was almost disappointed, really.

The thought of a demon-dominated world, humans subjugated and used as slaves or cattle, had seemed like a good idea five years ago, particularly to the wide masses of demons sick of hiding from the weak human race just because there happened to be more of them. It had seemed a bloody good idea to Spike too, at first.

But then, after that first bit of lovely chaos had ended, everything had started to go all political as various Tribes and Orders from around the world began making power plays. Everyone wanted more, more, more, and civilization basically collapsed in the political vacuum and confusion.

The only thing everyone had been able to agree on had been that the Slayer needed to be stopped. And after killing the one, only to have another pop up somewhere else, they'd finally just captured the girl and were holding her prisoner at some undisclosed location, the idea being that if she never died, there could never be another.

The best chance Spike had of an actual challenge nowadays could only come from other demons or the miscellaneous human rebels. And before he'd even realized it, he'd successfully fallen into the job of mercenary, choosing jobs based purely on the prospective amount of fun to be had.

And this particular job had been a treat, lasting a full month and leading him on a bloody great chase up and down the East Coast. He was almost tempted to let the human go for the night in order to prolong it. Maybe even let the human go all together. Anyone who irritated those ponced-up political buggers was alright in his book.

He couldn't though.

He was expecting nearly ten thousand American dollars for this kill, a payment he needed if he wanted to continue his search for a cure for Dru.

Maybe he'd just give the human a quick and relatively painless death in reward for being so amusing.

* * *

-

**Cattarack, Montana; USA**

-

Leaning against the outside wall of the old stable, now home to the group of girls working in the renovated farm house estate, Tara smiled softly as she absently pet the hair of the young girl using her lap as a pillow. She'd have to get up soon of course, Tara and she were scheduled to work in the kitchen with the other girls in a little while, but for now it was nice to rest.

Her expression slightly wistful as she took in the view, Tara sighed softly. It was beautiful here in Montana, so close to all this nature. It was a shame that she couldn't properly appreciate it.

But as it was, Morlt'parl, a wealthy Margwa demon and her Master, had no idea she was a witch, and it would be best for everyone if she kept it that way.

Human witches had a disturbing tendency to be taken and used, drained of all magic in one go or forced to become a puppet, casting spells and curses for their Master's every whim.

And if, on top of this, it was revealed that she was also an undiscovered demon?

She would be destroyed. Her sympathy and loyalty to humans would not be acceptable.

It was only luck, and being almost drained of magic at the time, that had allowed her to escape both fates after the massacres had spread into her hometown.

After hearing news of the spreading demon attacks across the country, Tara had immediately set to creating wards for all the family and neighbors that she could. A process which, unfortunately, had the nasty side-affect of draining nearly all of her energy.

She had decided to risk it, which, in retrospect, had not been a very good idea.

Grabbed from the streets after one of these castings, too drained and weak to fight, she had been forced into a cell of frightened civilians and then bundled off to be sold as a slave. Forced to stand naked in a line as she was poked and prodded by various demons, it had been the single most embarrassing and frightening experience of her life.

But in the end she had been lucky enough to be bought by Master Morlt'parl. As a Margwa demon, Morlt'parl was possessive and reclusive, preferring to spend his life hoarding money and valuables over causing violence, and found the idea of touching a human sexually disgusting. He lived deep in the country-side with no company but the occasional business visit, avoiding his slaves as much as possible. To escape any cruel treatment, all one had to do was perform their duties well and stay out of his way, both rather easily done as the duties were comprised of simple household chores and the Master rarely left his wing of the newly built estate.

And while she may have preferred humans as the dominant race, hated not knowing the fate of her family and neighbors, and hated what she knew was happening to the less fortunate around the world, she was, overall, content.

It was probably the demon in her, making her that selfish.

* * *

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**Little Dundee, Pennsylvania; USA**

**-**

Four members of Xander's retrieval team had already arrived, five newly freed slaves at their sides, but Xander and Jason were both still unaccounted for.

Standing before the collection of cots, blankets, and bags of various herbs and first aid materials, all shoved haphazardly into an abandoned barn in rural Pennsylvania to serve as a temporary home base, Willow watched the various members of their make-shift rebellion hustle around the camp. The two missing men had not gone unnoticed and the atmosphere was thick with worry and a sort of forced cheerfulness. They were forcing themselves to be optimistic and Willow was struggling to find the words to tell them that it did not seem as though either of the missing men would ever be coming back. She had lost contact with them hours ago and the situation at their last report had not seemed particularly promising.

This was a disaster.

Deaths in their numbers would never be easy, but then for one of those deaths to be _Xander_?

She and Xander may have co-led, co-created, and co-trained this team, but Willow would not kid herself to believe that she was the one that kept them fighting. Oh, sure, she had her own share of loyalty and admiration, but she knew that this was nothing when compared to the pure devotion and awe that Xander had unknowingly inspired in their followers.

She and Xander were just very different people, with very different strengths and weaknesses, and these people had loved him almost as much as she had.

When they were younger and Giles was still their leader, Xander had mostly stayed to base management and other things like that. And he'd taken these duties very seriously, deciding that keeping the spirits of both the newbie's and veterans alive to be one of his most important tasks. Stating that a fighter was no good, maybe dangerous even, if he didn't care about the fight, himself, the future, or anything else. This statement had, of course, then been followed by some stupid joke involving watching too much TV, but it had still been pretty deep and insightful at the time.

After Giles' death, and her and Xander's following promotion to co-leader status, she'd pretty much drowned herself in her work, determined to becoming always better and finding more ways to help. Xander, on the other hand, had taken on the more social aspects of leadership, bringing everyone's already existing love for him to a new level as he proved himself again and again as both a capable and caring leader.

He was these people's inspiration; he kept them believing in life and able to hope for freedom.

He was _her_ inspiration. Her best friend. Her brother. How on earth was she going to lead this team without him?

She couldn't remember a time when he hadn't ever been there, and now for him to be gone . . . Willow bit her lip and fought back the tears that wanted to appear.

This wasn't going to be easy for anyone.

* * *

-

**Somewhere, Canada**

-

His hiding place was dark, cramped, and foul, water leaking from the piping just to his left creating a puddle that threatened to soak his dirty pant-leg, the small space forcing him to sit semi-hunched over and causing his neck to cramp.

In other words, this place was perfect.

Holding a particularly mangy rat by its tail in front of his face, Angel watched the poor creature struggle fruitlessly in mid-air with sorrowful eyes.

"I'm sorry." He pitifully whispered to the poor thing before vamping out and bringing the rat closer, softly sinking fangs into dirty, diseased-ridden, skin to reach the blood underneath.

Pulling out, his face immediately snapped back into its human mask and he held the dead rat carefully in his hands, sparing a second to mourn. "I didn't want to, you know," he told the small corpse, "I'm just so disgusting. All I do is kill."

And that was true. All he did was kill.

He was disgusting and this place was just where he belonged. Being garbage himself, he should rightfully exist here, in the sewers with the rest of society's shit and filth.

It would be doing the whole world a favor if he just staked himself. It wasn't like he was doing anything worthwhile with this existence anyways, and if he was gone then at least a few more small animals would be alive.

Utterly useless. Wasn't ever there when she'd needed him.

He'd killed her, and then he'd killed her friends. And, just to top that off, he'd then gone and sent every human in existence to their deaths.

Coward

The word had echoed through his head for years. Ever since that day back in Sunnydale.

Coward

He'd known that the Hellmouth's demon community had been getting restless. Had known that the growing number of demons in town was the result of something more than the usual Hellmouth pull.

But what had he done? Nothing

He'd given her some pathetic and vague warning, awarding the Master responsibility, and then ran back to his apartment to hide, actually being stupid enough to feel pride at a job well done.

He should have known that a mere warning would do nothing. Not even she could fight forever and one day, if the stories were true, she was killed during battle in the high school cafeteria.

Soon every demon in town had known of the Slayer's downfall and the Hellmouth was lost. The Watcher and Buffy's two friends had tried to hold them off, but caught up in their excitement the demons had simply tossed the humans aside and proceeded to slaughter all they could.

And waking up that night to find the demons "celebrating" in the streets, what had he done? Run away.

Pathetic

Sooner or later he'd get up the courage to stake himself, to make this world a better place without him. He just needed some time to get over his selfish and stupid desire to exist.

* * *

TBC 


	3. Ch 2: Interruption

* * *

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Chapter #2: Interruption

-

**Little Dundee, Pennsylvania; USA**

**-**

Finally getting up the courage, Willow took a deep breath and steeled herself to tell the others the bad news. Walking out into the center of the barn, she waved her hand in the air and called for everyone's attention. "Excuse me? Excuse me, everyone? I have an announcement to make."

Everyone quickly putting aside their various duties, the bustle and noise of the barn came to a stop as they all turned to her hopefully. They obviously knew that this announcement could only concern the whereabouts and health of Xander and Jason.

Nervous under all these expectant eyes, Willow winced and screwed up her courage. "As – as all of you know," she started haltingly, "our last raid didn't exactly go off as easily as we had hoped and two men still haven't come home. And . . . and I'm afraid that I haven't been completely upfront about that," she said, trying her best to keep her voice steady, "I didn't want to worry anyone just in case it turned out to be nothing. But it's . . . it's been almost two hours now since we lost all contact with Xand – Xander and Jason—

"What?!" A protest from the audience.

She ignored it, continuing on with, "We have no idea where they are, or – or how they're doing, and the time limit for radio silence has already passed. I . . . ," she faltered, swallowing roughly, "I don't think they'll be coming back."

The few remaining murmurs and noises from the audience died. Some looked at her with accusing eyes, as though it was her fault the two men were gone, and the faces of others dropped in disappointment and sorrow.

"Are you sure?" a woman from the audience asked, obviously not wanting to believe.

"I'm sorry," Willow said sympathetically, heart going out to the woman, "I don't like this any more then you do but Jason's status-ball has already gone black and Xander's is saying that he's in critical condition. Even . . . even if we _were_ to send out a search team immediately, there wouldn't be enough time."

The woman's face fell and her friend standing next to her put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

"I'm sorry," Willow repeated and watched as the various members of the rebellion turned to each other for comfort, friends and lovers exchanging hugs and comforting words. The five newly freed slaves huddled together off to the side looked around themselves with guilty expressions, obviously feeling slightly awkward at intruding on a private moment.

Absorbed in themselves, no one came to comfort her.

Willow swallowed again at this example of her lack, no real friends and no idea on how to go on from here. Xander was gone and she was all alone.

"We'll be leaving at dawn. Be ready," she ordered, voice shaky, and then turned quickly to find a more private area.

* * *

-

**North London, England**

-

Climbing down a London manhole, it was only a few meters walk through the dirty sewers before Jefferson and Wesley passed through the wards of their make-shift underground home.

The space eerily lit by the small fire in the center, three old blankets lay on the floor and the area was littered with empty cans. To the side, they stored their various weaponry, books, uneaten food, threadbare clothing, and few spell ingredients in large crates that doubled as chairs.

It really wasn't much, but compared to some of the other street dwellers their home was a mansion. With wards acting as a warning system and barrier, they could have a permanent and relatively safe home where others could not.

"How did everything go?" Walters asked, sitting in front of the fire, his old bones needing the heat.

The two of them dropped their loads of food at his side and then went over to sit on the large crates. Obviously exhausted, Wesley went to work on loosing his muscles, massaging his calf where it was starting to hurt from all the running.

"It was fine," Jefferson answered, rolling a shoulder to relieve some upper back pain, "We had some trouble towards the end, but everything turned out alright."

"Wonderful," Walters smiled at them, as always happy that they had returned unharmed, and reached over to pull the stolen food closer to him, busying himself with going through the loot and examining it for quality. Organizing the food into categories, long-lasting canned food was placed in one pile, fruit and other items with a shorter life-span going in another, and the uneatable in a third.

* * *

-

**Albany, New York; USA**

-

Breathing heavily, Xander's lungs were on fire, his left side developing a rather painful cramp and his muscles screaming at him to rest, yet Xander still continued to stumble deeper and deeper into the forest.

Finding himself unconsciously veering off to the left, he was brought to a stop when he ran into a bush and his skin and clothing caught on some of the branches. Cursing irritably, knowing that he needed to keep going before the bounty hunter caught up to him again, he tugged at his clothing anxiously.

Looking back to see if the hunter was near, his clothing finally came loose from some of the most persistent branches and he almost fell on his ass. Luckily catching himself before he fell, he turned awkwardly and dragged his feet back onto the path.

* * *

-

**Cattarack, Montana; USA**

-

Softly petting the red hair of the little girl sleeping on her lap, Tara's peaceful moment came to an abrupt end as Anne poked her head around the corner.

"Tara! It's time for dinner," she called.

Jumping in surprise, the little girl making a soft sound of protest, Tara looked up at the sudden noise. "We - we're coming," she called back.

"Hurry up then!" Anne ordered and disappeared around the corner to get to work.

Tara turned to wake the little girl in her lap. "Jessie?" she shook the girl gently, "Jessie, it's . . . it's time to wake up, sweetie."

"Mmm?" Jessica said, half-asleep, "Tara?" she asked, turning in Tara's lap to blink sleepily up at her favorite older sister.

Tara looked down at her with a soft smile, "It's dinner time. Are you ready?"

"Mmhmm . . ." Jessica nodded, rubbing her eyes childishly, and then climbed to her feet. She smiled down at Tara from this new position towering over her. "Let's go."

"Al – alright," Tara said, standing up and brushing the dirt from the ground off her skirt. Offering the little girl her hand, Jessica immediately grabbed it and threaded their fingers together, only letting go when they had entered the hot kitchen, filled with kitchen slaves all hustling about to put together the huge portions of food needed for their Master's dinner.

Giving Tara one last smile, Jessica set off to complete her own duties, setting the table, and Tara took her place at the stove. Another kitchen maid shoving cut vegetables at her; Tara found a skillet and began to grill, quickly catching hold of the rhythm of the room.

* * *

-

**Somewhere, Canada**

-

Drip . . . Drip . . . . Drip . . . . . . Drip

Angel eyed the rat drinking from the small puddle that had been forming at his side. He was still hungry, but he hated having to kill so many rats just to fill him up.

Maybe he should let this one go.

But he was so hungry.

Slowly sliding closer and closer to the small animal at the puddle, Angel wet dry lips, caught in indecision.

* * *

-

**Albany, New York; USA**

-

The hunt was coming to an end, the scent of blood and the sound of a heartbeat becoming louder and louder with each passing moment, and Spike slowed, savoring his win.

Pushing through another bush, Spike scented the air and listened for his prey. The sound of heavy breathing, a loud heartbeat, and clumsy footsteps could be heard just over the hedge, the scent of blood and sweaty human close by, and Spike directed his three minions to surround the area.

* * *

-

**Bakersfield, CA; USA**

-

The long, shrill, note of the whistle that marked the turn of midnight was a welcome sound and Gunn let go of his lever with a relieved sigh. Breathing heavily, he put his hands on his knees and bent over, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

One more work day finished and he was still alive.

His breathing calming and feeling energized enough to move, Gunn straightened, wiped the seat from his brow with the back of his hand, only smearing the dirt and soot on his face all the more, and he turned to follow the other slaves through the double doors of the building. Moving immediately for the building line leading to the outdoors "cafeteria" area of the manufacturing plant where a demon stood behind a small table with a pot of some nasty soup, a basket of slightly stale bread, and a jug of water.

Every slave getting only so much food and water with no chance for seconds, the demon growling warningly whenever they tried to grab for more than one slice of bread or help themselves to more than their allotted share of water, the monotony of the step-pause-step rhythm of the line threatened to send Gunn to sleep where he stood.

* * *

_Somewhere else outside of this world, Willow and five others fought to stop a wizard from finishing his spell._

_The portal before the wizard growing bigger and bigger, Xander shot the wizard with his crossbow and got the man in the thigh. But the wizard ignored the wound, hobbling forward toward the portal._

"_Hurry! Catch him!" Buffy shouted and the others ran into the circle._

_Angel grabbing for him, the man somehow dodged out of the way, and then fell as he dodged again around Giles, aiming his fall through the portal door.._

_Dropping his crossbow to the ground, Xander jumped in to grab the wizard's feet before he could get all the way through and Buffy grabbed Xander before Xander could be dragged by the man's weight and momentum. The portal sucking them in, and the man kicking his feet in an attempt to dislodge Xander's hands, Buffy dragged Xander back again as he was pulled forward by the portal's inherent pull and Xander finally lost his grip._

_The wizard's feet disappeared and, everything changed._

**

* * *

-**

**Little Dundee, Pennsylvania; USA**

**-**

Escaping outside, Willow rushed to the back of the barn and dropped to a seat on the ground just as a tear escaped, making its way down her cheek. Leaning against the wall, she hugged her knees tightly to her chest and gave into her emotions.

Sobbing quietly for some time, her tears finally began to slow and she sniffled, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, and attempted to get herself back under control. Taking a deep calming breath, she looked up at the stars, twinkling in the rare clear night sky, and— _Oz turning into a werewolf before her eyes. Laughing with Buffy and Xander at Giles' mid-life crisis-mobile. Agonizing over the thought of telling her friends about Tara._

**

* * *

-**

**North London, England**

-

By the size of the piles when Walters was done sorting the food, it looked as though they might have found enough food for the rest of the week. This, and their safe return, was always something to celebrate, and Walters took out the ripe green apple Wesley had found and his cutting knife. Slowly cutting the apple into slices, juices running down his fingers, he passed the slices among them.

Wesley smiled, putting out a hand to receive his slice and—_On a plane to America, swelling with pride at the thought of his very own Slayer. Standing up against the Council. Warm laughter, Gunn smiling and shaking his head at him in amusement._

* * *

-

**Albany, New York; USA**

-

Stumbling onward, Xander eventually came to a rockier area of the path. Stopping a second to lean over, panting for breath, he pushed his sweaty bangs out of his eyes and moved to continue forward only to fall over his own feet, toppling painfully to the ground after two steps.

He tried to pull himself back up using the trunk of a large tree nearby, but his legs gave out and he collapsed back into the dirt.

Starting to try again, he gripped the bark harder, pulling up with all his remaining strength, and—_Walking the streets of Sunnydale in search of things to kill. Buffy looking at him in disbelief. Spike straddling his hips and looking down at him with an exaggerated leer._

* * *

-

**Cattarack, Montana; USA**

-

The vegetables sizzling in the oil, Tara stirred the mixture of mushrooms, onions, and carrots, turning away from her work only to grab some more seasoning. Hurrying to the appropriate cabinet, she opened the door to search through the multitude of small containers. Finding the one she was looking for, she reached out to grab it and—_An acceptance letter to UC Sunnydale. Willow busily going over her notes with colored highlighters. Spike hitting her and falling to the floor in pain_

* * *

-

**Somewhere, Canada**

-

Finally deciding that one more rat couldn't hurt, Angel slowly reached out a hand, so as to not frighten the creature away, and—_Watching over Buffy as she slept, at peace and happier than he had ever been before. Walking away from her forever. Cordelia falling to the floor, crying out in pain at the newest vision._

* * *

-

**Albany, New York; USA**

-

The sound of a heavy thump as the human fell, Spike watched through the brush as the human then dragged himself over to a nearby tree, using it to try and climb back to his feet and failing. Then as the human started to try again.

Smirking at these pathetic struggles, Spike prepared to make his entrance and— _Driving over the Sunnydale sign that first time. Dru draining her Sire dry on the altar of some church. Tied to a chair, watching as Xander tossed and turned in bed, plagued by nightmares._

* * *

-

**Bakersfield, CA; USA**

-

Finally reaching the table, Gunn grabbed his food and water quickly and immediately headed for his usual seat, off to the side away from everyone else. Being around those fucking drones made him angry and he was too tired for all that shit.

Plopping down on his usual bench, Gunn glared at his meal, but still began to shovel the thick soup into his mouth as quickly as he could. He was starving and the faster a person ate the less chance he had of actually tasting the nasty stuff.

Quickly finishing, he grabbed for his water, trying to wash out the bad aftertaste left in his mouth by gulping it down and— _The look on his sister's face as he drove a stake into her chest. Fighting beside Angel. Coming into the office and finding Wesley asleep over his books, a cold cup of tea at his side _

Gunn choked, going into a coughing fit as the water went down the wrong way.

Funny. He didn't remember getting water.

His coughing fit dying down, Gunn put aside his now empty cup and made sure he was breathing properly before looking up. Expecting to find himself in the empty front entranceway of Angel Investigations, he was confused to instead find himself outside. Looking around his surrounding, at the manufacturing building, at the people eating at other tables, at the barren landscape, he blinked in confusion.

Where the hell was he?

* * *

TBC 


	4. Ch 3: Dropped in the Middle

I wanted to thank those that reviewed (igorawr and Reese Craven and then STIG and cursedgirl because I didn't thank them last time) Thank you!

* * *

- 

Chapter #3: Dropped in the Middle

-

**Bakersfield, California; USA**

-

Gunn blinked in confusion.

Where the hell was he?

Everything was far too quiet Gunn thought as he slowly stood from his seat on the bench and looked around his strange new surroundings. The night air warm and dry, there was a slowly moving line formed to his left, leading to the strange sight of a greasy reddish demon shoveling out food to the tired looking humans standing listlessly in line. Filling the rest of the area were more humans, all seated quietly at picnic tables, shoving their faces with food with a tired kind of desperation. Three more demons, with heavily plated armadillo-like grey skin and the hairless snout of a rat, stood around the edges, looking ready to attack at the first sign of disobedience.

The feel of a stray draft in the warm night blowing against his chest reaching his attention, he looked down at himself. He was wearing the same uniform-like clothing as the rest of the humans but seemed to have lost the shirt. Almost distantly he noticed the faint sting of what felt like a sunburn on his back.

This was _not_ normal.

The last thing Gunn remembered was being back at Angel Investigations, wearing his own clothes, just chillin' while he and Wesley waited for a call from Angel and Cordelia who were over in Sunnydale taking care of a vision. Nothing unusual had happened as far as he knew, they hadn't gone out on any jobs, so why was he suddenly here?

Where the hell _was_ here?

And, more importantly, where the hell was Wesley? Had he been taken to wherever the fuck he was too?

Not wanting to be caught in an unknown situation without a weapon, Gunn turned back to the table he had appeared on, and then to the surrounding area, on the off-chance of finding a knife, or maybe a large stick, to defend himself with, but found nothing. Undaunted, he turned to eye the demons in the area warily. Deciding to risk it, and watching the guards for any sudden moves, he began to carefully make his way over to the more crowded benches to look for his friend. He wanted to make sure Wes was safe and then figure out what the hell was going on as quickly as possible.

"Wes?" he called softly, his eyes searching the crowd as he moved steadily in and out of the tables. The people eating didn't seem to notice him, all their attention on their food. "Yo, Wes?" he called again, looking around, and then quickly checked to make sure that none of the demons were looking his way. One of them was, and narrowed its eyes, but seemed to think he was acting normally. He turned back to the tables.

"Wes?" he called again, a little louder, hoping that Wes would hear it wherever he was in the crowd. If he was in the crowd. There was always the chance that Gunn was alone.

Frowning, getting worried, Gunn walked a little deeper into the crowd of people. "Wes?"

"_Human_," barked another one of the demons standing around the edges of the eating area and Gunn tensed, looking over that way. Apparently, they'd finally figured out that he wasn't just trying to find a seat. The demon was quickly making his way over to Gunn. "What are you doing standing around?" the demon asked, grabbing Gunn roughly and pulling him around to face him, nearly yanking his arm out of its socket.

"I was just trying to find a seat," Gunn lied calmly, quickly squashing his first panic reaction and carefully not showing his disgust at the demon's foul breath in his face.

The demon smiled, a slow twisted thing full of gleeful anticipation, large razor sharp teeth far too close to Gunn's face for his comfort. "We'll have to remind you of what happens to humans that take too long to follow orders then, won't we?"

And staring up into that hideous face, Gunn knew what that meant.

And all he could think of was, "Shit"

* * *

- 

**Little Dundee, Pennsylvania; USA**

-

Willow sniffled softly, wondering why she was suddenly so sad. Did something bad happen?

And she didn't remember falling to the ground, so why was she sitting hunched over in the wet grass? Did she miss something?

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and one last sniffle, she raised her head and got her first look at her surroundings. Leaning against what looked like the back of a barn, all around her was open land, only like on a farm and not like the clearing in the woods. She'd half expected for the bodies of the others to be scattered haphazardly across the grass, but no one was in sight.

Weird.

The last thing she actually remembered was being in that clearing with the others, trying to stop that wizard guy from completing his spell and going through the portal. It hadn't exactly worked though. The wizard had slipped through Xander's fingers.

She frowned slightly. Was that why she was wherever she was?

Getting to her feet, she looked around herself again and decided to go look around the area. Maybe the others were close by.

* * *

- 

**North London; England**

-

Wesley blinked into the sudden darkness of the room, disoriented by the sudden change in light. Had there been a power outage?

No. That wasn't right. If there had been a power outage the room would be in complete darkness, save for the light pollution of the city. Here there was a small fire in the center of the room and it was illuminating the small space just enough for him to see that he was definitely not at Angel Investigations anymore. Damp, filthy, and eerily lit by the small light of the fire, it looked like he was in the insides of the sewers. That is, if any unfortunate homeless man had ever decided to set up house there.

How strange.

Something must have happened.

"You've dropped your apple," spoke a voice complete with British accent.

Pulled from his thoughts, Wesley blinked again, and turned to face the speaker. Two other men seemed to be in the same predicament as him, one seated next to him on the crates he was now sitting on and one seated closer to the fire. The speaker was the younger seeming of the two, the one seated next to him. In this dim light it was hard to tell, but Wesley could make out a prominent nose and darkly colored hair.

"What apple?" he asked uncomprehendingly.

"Your apple." The man pointed and Wesley looked down, following his finger. And sure enough there was a slice of apple lying on the dirty floor. "You aren't getting an extra one," the man continued as though this were some type of punishment.

And something about that comment bothered Wesley. It seemed too casual. Like the fact that they had just suddenly appeared in some strange sewer was inconsequential.

If that was indeed what had happened.

Wesley frowned at the thought and looked up from the bit of apple to take a second look at his surroundings. Everything seemed the same as when he had first looked. It was still as damp, dirty, and eerily lit as ever. Opening up his senses, he felt the steady pulse of wards surrounding the area but that was it. This was a real and concrete place.

The fire crackled softly and the older man shifted in place, beginning to frown in concern when Wesley continued to not speak. "Wesley, are you quite alright?" he asked.

At this Wesley's attention snapped away from his examination of his surroundings and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Just how did this man know his name? "I'm sorry but do I know you?"

Obviously not expecting this, the older man merely blinked in reply. Then looked considering.

"Is this some kind of joke?" the younger man asked, beginning to look a little suspicious himself.

"No," Wesley said, turning his narrow-eyed gaze on this younger man, "I'm sorry, but I truly do not know who you are. Perhaps you could enlighten me?"

The younger man glared at him. "Oh no. I have absolutely no intention of playing along with this immature charade. Perhaps if you—"

"I think he may be telling the truth," the older man interrupted, still looking at Wesley in consideration.

Hearing this, the younger man turned to the other, obviously unable to believe what he was hearing. "You believe him?"

"When has Wesley ever been known to play a joke like this?" the older man asked mildly, turning to the other and raising his brow meaningfully.

The younger man frowned but seemed to be considering this carefully. "Never."

"Exactly," and that was that. "Tell me," he said, turning back to Wesley, "Is it just us you don't remember or is it everything?"

Wesley frowned. "I assure you. I remember everything perfectly well. I have no need for your help."

The older man was undeterred. "Then if you remember everything so well, why is it you don't remember us?"

"I assume it is because I have never seen you before in my life." That sounded a little rude, and Wesley wanted to take it back but wouldn't.

The older man tried a different route. "What year is it?"

"2002," Wesley answered promptly, hoping that this would be enough to dissuade them of their ridiculous idea that his memories were somehow gone. After all, if he knew the correct year then how could he have amnesia?

And his attempts to figure out the situation put to a stop by this, the older man frowned.

"Maybe . . ." the younger man spoke up, examining Wesley, eyes narrowed in thought, "Maybe, your memories haven't been taken, but perhaps . . . twisted, in a way. Made so that you remember certain things but not others."

The older man brightened. "Yes! Exactly. That must be what happened." He looked at the other approvingly and the younger man gave a slightly cocky smirk before he frowned as he seemed to realize something.

"But how could they?" he asked, turning to the older man, confused, "The wards are up. We should be safe. We should have at least been warned."

Wesley tried to get them to see sense before they went too far with their ridiculous theory. "My memories have not been twisted in any way. I remember everything quite clearly."

"Yes, but how would you know?" the younger man asked, turning back to him, "If your memories were twisted, as I'm sure they are, then you certainly wouldn't be expected to know that. The memories would have been made so that you would believe in them."

"I . . ." Wesley stopped, becoming uncertain. What could he say to that? It made sense when put in that manner.

But he knew his memories were true, weren't they? They couldn't be anything else. It just seemed silly to think that some other party would want him to remember the things he remembered. It would make no sense. Who would want him to remember fighting alongside Angel?

So, yes, his memories were true. And, as that was so, he needed to somehow discover where he was. Maybe he could use these people for information.

Wesley sighed and put a hand to his head, rubbing his forehead for a moment as he got himself together. Brought the hand back down and turned to the two men "Very well. So I'm missing things?" he asked them, breaking into their discussion of just how a spell would be possible through the wards. They turned to look at him. "Just what exactly am I missing? And what exactly are your names? I don't believe we've been introduced."

The two men exchanged a look then turned back to him. "My name is Edward Walters and this is Stuart Jefferson," the older man said, motioning at first himself and then the younger man. "And as to what you are missing, I suppose it would be easiest for me to give you a rundown of events. Just tell me if you have any questions."

"I do have one," Wesley spoke up. It was just a little one, with most likely a very simple answer, but it would bother him.

"Yes?"

"Just how is it you know of magic?"

At this, Walters looked a little worried. "We're used to belong to the Watcher's Council. Do you not remember that?"

Wesley shook his head, for some reason wanting to make the man feel better. "No I remember that. I was just uncertain of your position."

Walters frowned but let it pass. "Very well. Then, to begin, I suppose I'll start with the rise of the demons."

That sounded like something to be concerned about. Wesley frowned and echoed, "The rise of the demons?"

"Yes. You don't remember that?"

Wesley shook his head.

"Well, five years ago, the demons of the Hellmouth began to rise up. We're not quite sure why, but it all happened very quickly. The Slayer fought back of course, but working together the demons were just too much for her. And after a few weeks the Hellmouth was taken and the uprising moved on. First California, then all of America, and then it moved across the ocean . . .

Wesley listened to all this in shock. Silent as Walters went on to speak of the fall of the Watcher's Council, of turning to the streets, of living off of scraps and whatever could be stolen, of death and slavery.

What kind of world was he in? Clearly not his own.

But it sounded familiar . . . Why was that . . . ?

Oh. Wesley's eyes widened in sudden realization.

It sounded familiar because it was.

Wesley remembered everything.

* * *

- 

**Albany, New York; USA**

-

Catching sight of Xander unconscious to the ground, Spike didn't ask why he was suddenly in the woods and pushed through the brush to hurry to his lover's side, the worrying smell of blood only growing as he got closer.

Turning Xander over, he gently brushed his bangs from his face and took in the damage. A bleeding head wound, the blood running down Xander's dirty and smudged face, Xander showed signs of being attacked and was covered in thin scratches, dark bruises, and dirt, leaves caught in his hair and clothing.

Whoever did this would die.

Starting to growl, the sound low and threatening, reverberating in his chest, Spike looked around to see what could have brought the injuries on and noticed three fledges hiding off to the sides of the clearing. He smirked dangerously and stood up, pausing only to grab a stray tree branch as a make-shift stake.

Stalking over to the first one, he pushed through the brush, grabbed the fledge, and staked him in one swift move. Then moved on to the second fledge, who he snagged by the back of the jacket, dragged back, and threw to the ground. Obviously scared, the fledge scrambled back in the dirt as quickly as he could, backing up into a tree trunk. "Wha – what's the m - matter, boss?" he stammered nervously. Spike ignored the question and ripped his head off.

The third fledge was on the other side of the clearing and, seeing what had happened to the others, had turned tail immediately and fled. Thinking about going after him, Spike took one look at Xander and decided to let the fledge go. He had more important things to do.

Something strange and potentially dangerous was going on and Spike wanted to find a better place to wait for Xander to wake up so that they could figure things out. This place was too open and unsafe.

* * *

- 

**Cattarack, Montana; USA**

-

Suddenly in a busy kitchen, girl after girl pushing her out of their way as they hurried by, Tara looked into a cupboard in confusion. And, turning around to face the busy kitchen, she wasn't any less confused.

Where was she?

"Tara, stop dawdling!" someone yelled and she looked over to see a plain girl with dark brown hair, wearing the same simple outfit as everyone else, gesturing at her to move, "Get over here!" the girl yelled impatiently, "Do you _want_ us to get punished?"

"I – I – I—" Tara stuttered, having no idea what was going on, but complied anyways. Closing the open cupboard door, she hurried over to the girl, hoping that she would tell her what was happening.

"What are you doing?" the girl asked irritably and took hold of Tara's shoulder, pushing her in the other direction, in the direction of the stove. "This is your place. Keep working, will you?"

"O – okay," Tara said meekly, and turned to the stove, looking around helplessly for what she was supposed to be doing. Finding a wooden spoon lying off to the side, she picked it up and hesitantly began to stir the mixture of vegetables already sizzling in the pan before her.

The girl nodded in approval, "Good," and left Tara to silently panic, not wanting to make a big scene or to look out of place but desperately wishing for some type of clue.

Where was she?

Where was everyone else?

Who were these people that knew her name?

What was she supposed to be making?

* * *

- 

**Somewhere; Canada**

-

Angel rubbed the back of his head. He didn't remember hitting his head on anything, but he must have because that's what it felt like.

And when did he sit down? Why was he so bent over and cramped?

Putting his hand down, Angel frowned. Was that water he felt?

His vampire vision allowing him to see in the dark, Angel looked around his surroundings. Confused by what he found, he attempted to straighten from his cramped position only to hit his head hard again on the low metal ceiling. "Shit," he cursed loudly, the sound echoing down the long sewers.

And what was he doing in the sewers?

The last thing he remembered was the clearing just outside of Sunnydale, where he and the others had been trying to stop that wizard from completing the spell. The wizard had just disappeared through the portal and then he was . . . here?

His frown deepening, Angel looked around his surroundings again, now carefully avoiding the low ceiling. No one was in sight.

He needed to find everybody else. Something must have gone wrong.

* * *

- 

**Albany, New York; USA**

-

— _Demons everywhere. Terrified screams as classmates race by, everything a chaotic blur of memory. Xander stands with Giles at the edges of the cafeteria, helping others to safety, when the room seems to pause and he looks up. Buffy stands still on top of a cafeteria table, an almost surprised look on her face as she slowly falls to her knees, a demon's hand sticking straight through her stomach, claws bloody. The world in slow-motion, she slowly completes her fall, landing face first on the table with an audible thump. A pause as Xander stares horrified. Then suddenly the world starts up again as the demons go wild—_

_-_

—_Swallowing nervously, he holds the cross as steadily as he could at Angel's back. His palms are sweaty and his stomach is tied up in knots. Following Angel down into the sewers, he hadn't even thought this would work and has no idea what he thought he was going to do once he got down there, but the point was just to get down there. He'd figure out what to do from there—_

_-_

— _Loud crashes and terrified screams fill the air as metal flies. Terrified civilians race by his position, all trying to find somewhere to hide. Positioned behind a gas tank at the local gas station, Xander, a calm figure in the midst of all the chaos, carefully aims his crossbow at the demon flipping cars and grabbing people as they fled the scene and fires—_

_-_

— _Straddled by Faith, her hands closing around his throat as she rides him. Auto-erotic asphyxiation. Not something he enjoyed.—_

_-_

— _Giles is still in there. That's all Xander can think. Giles is still in there and the bomb is set to blow any minute. He needed to get out of there and fast.—_

_-_

—_Xander smiles, laughing, Rolling on their bed, naked, Xander straddles Spike's hips and looks down at his lover. The others didn't approve of it but he had never been happier. Spike smiles back, his real smile, and places his hands on Xander's hips._

_-_

—_Hundreds of demons in the next room, the sound of their chatter reaching his ears. Two guard demons unconscious at his feet, two other rebels watching his back, Xander fumbles with the lock picks. Finally there's a click and the door swings open, revealing a huddled group of humans, dressed in rags and obviously terrified. He tries to smile at them reassuringly as he steps in and they cower back. Just like they always do and the familiar hatred bubbles up—_

Xander woke in a cave with two sets of memories in his head.

"Oh. Ow." Dragging himself up, he put a hand to his head in pain. What had hit him?

"Luv? Y' awake?" came a somewhat familiar voice from nearby. Xander looked up and found himself looking at the vampire—_Spike_---that had been hunting him for so long. Strangely, this made him want to smile. Instead he tensed.

"You," he hissed venomously, eyes narrowing in hate as he struggled to his feet. Something about this hate seemed wrong and that made him confused but he wasn't about to show that to his enemy.

_--Gentle fingers tracing his face, Xander looks up into blue eyes with a hesitant smile—_

Xander tried to push back the memory, not wanting to deal with it.

"Luv, y' need t' sit down. Yer hurt," the vampire—_Spike_—actually pretending to care for some reason, reached out a hand to gently grasp his arm.

Xander yanked his arm away before he could and hobbled back a foot to get some distance between them, snarling, "Yeah, and why is that I wonder?"

Spike actually looked confused by this; as though he didn't remember clearly that he had been the one to beat him into the ground and kill Jason. "Pet?" he asked, tilting his head to the side and looking concerned. "Is sumthin' wrong?"

_--That same voice, asking that same question. "Is sumthin' wrong?"--_

Xander ignored the whisper.

This must be a game to him. Something to throw Xander off balance. .

"Stop it," Xander hissed, entire body tense and ready to attack at any chance. He tried to tell himself that he hadn't already attacked because he knew it would be pointless and not because he was somehow reluctant to hurt the other. This creature had _killed _one of his men. What was he waiting for?

Spike continued to look confused. "Stop wot?"

_-- Spike, naked, looks up at him from the bed. Blue eyes blinking at him, wide and far too innocent for that face. "Wot?"--_

Angrily, Xander came back to the present. "You know what. Stop it."

Spike shook his head. "Luv, I don't know wot yer talkin' about," stepping closer, he reached out again for Xander's hand. "Why don't y' come over 'ere an' sit down. Get off that ankle."

Eyes narrowing in disgust at the strangely alluring hand, Xander quickly took another step back. "Stop pretending like you care," he spat, "It's disgusting."

Hand outstretched, the vampire blinked but slowly took his hand back. "Alright. . ." Spike's expression, concerned and slightly confused but open, melted into one of complete disinterest and Xander immediately wanted to take his words back, but bit his lip and held back on the bizarre impulse. What did he care about the feelings of some vampire? The emotions were faked anyway.

_--Back tense, hands against the counter, clenching the tile, Spike grit his teeth. Desperately trying to hold back the frustration and pain and anger. Xander's heart hurt.—_

And alright. What was up with these memories?

"Xander . . ." Spike started and Xander's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"How do you know my name?" he demanded. Nobody was supposed to know his name. He and Willow had been almost obsessively careful about keeping any trace of themselves and their group out of the public eye.

Now Spike started to look confused again. "Don't y' remember me?""

Xander let out a short bark of a laugh, half-wild. "Oh no, I remember you. You've only been chasing us for the last month."

"Chasing . . . ?" Spike looked utterly lost.

"Yeah. Chasing. Oh, what? You don't remember that, too?"

Spike shook his head, brow furrowed in thought as he watched him. "No . . ." It didn't look like Spike actually believed him either, but what did Xander care? It was probably just another part of the plan.

_--"Oi! My plans were bloody brilliant. Carefully planned and mapped out. Diagrams and everything" a sigh, "But then I'd get bored."—_

And these memories were probably just yet another part of the plan.

"I know your plan and I'm not going to fall for it," Xander said, glaring.

"Wot plan?" Spike asked gently, like talking to—_Drusilla_—a crazy person.

"Your _plan_," Xander stressed angrily, "The whole being nice, weird memories thing. I'm not going to fall for it so you can just stop it right now."

"Xan, luv," Spike said, looking at him patiently, "I'm not doin' anythin'. I just appeared in th' soddin' forest and y' were at my feet. I don't have a bloody clue wot's goin' on."

"Oh, yeah," Xander scoffed, "like I believe that."

"It's th' bloody truth. Y' know I'd never lie t' you."  
_-- Gentle fingers through his hair, a miserable look on Spike's face, "Y'll never really completely trust me, will you?"—_

Xander blinked and the memory was gone. He tried to ignore it and the feeling it brought. "Why should I?" he asked, remembering where he was and going back to being angry.

A hint of the same miserable look that was in the flash of memory and Spike said, "'Cos I love you."

Xander stared at him a moment to see if he was actually serious and he apparently was. Xander snickered softly then saw the vampire's serious face again and started to laugh. He couldn't help it. They must be getting really desperate if _this _was their best plan. Come on. A vampire loving a human?

Now Spike was starting to look angry. "Yeah. I love you. Let's all have a laugh at that. I'll give y' a break as y've obviously gone nutters, but y' shut yer gob about things y' don't know nuthin' about."

—_Spike glares, anger in every line of his body. "When I say 'I love you' I mean it. If I was tryin' some trick I'd go after th' Slayer or th' witch. Yer not that important."—_

And Xander blinked, sudden realization washing over him. "You have the memories too."

"Wot?" Spike not quite over his anger.

"The memories," Xander said, enlightened, his own anger at the vampire put on hold. "I keep having these flashes of memory in my head, but if you actually think you love me then you must have them too."

"Or I could actually just love you." God Xander hoped not. A vampire in love with him was kind of wiggy. Especially _this_ vampire. The one who killed Jason.

Remembering that, Xander frowned and some of his anger came back and he said, a little harsher than before, "But you don't. I think I'd remember something like that and I don't," realizing that that wasn't quite right, Xander angrily amended, "Well, okay, I do. But those aren't my memories."

Spike frowned. "Did you hit yer head when those fledges roughed y' up?"

"No. See. If you were remembering things correctly then you'd know that _you_ roughed me up not any fledges."

Spike looked alarmed and started to protest, "Luv, I'd never—

"But you did," Xander cut in, shooting him a narrow look, "Because you don't actually love me. This loving me thing is a new thing." Spike clearly did not believe him so Xander tried a different way. He huffed irritably and said, "Alright, look. Look around you. Do you recognize anything?"

Spike didn't look. "No, but—

"But I do. Why do you think that is?" Xander went on before he could answer, "Because I have the right memories. And you don't love me."

Xander could see Spike start to waver in the face of his irrefutable logic. He waited until he saw the almost audible click and Spike realized just what had happened. He vamped out and started growling, pacing the small cave. Back to being the vampire that had been chasing him for so long, back to hating humans, and Xander was glad even as he prepared himself to die and hobbled back another step to keep out of Spike's way.

"I thought . . . I actually _believed_ . . ." Spike was muttering to himself. He snarled angrily at nothing and turned, glaring at Xander. "Go."

Xander frowned, confused.

"I said _Go_," Spike snarled, jabbing a finger in the direction of the entrance and Xander's eyes widened.

"You're going to let me go?" he asked, startled. He wasn't going to die?

And here he'd been all ready too.

"Th' offer only stands fer so long," Spike growled and Xander decided to take it. Hobbling toward the entrance, taking a wide path away from the vampire, Xander paused when he got to the entrance and looked back. Spike was staring at him, hate on his features.

Not sure what to think, Xander turned and left, grateful for the chance to live if a bit confused. Did this mean he was still going to be hunted down and that this was just an extension of his life?

Xander didn't know so he put more effort into hobbling and sped up. Hopefully he had at least enough time to get out of this forest.

* * *

TBC 


End file.
